Silas and MarySue
by FuchsiaII
Summary: If I had eyebrows, I'd raise them,' thought Silas worriedly...
1. The ChasteOMatic 3000

**REWRITTEN: My apologies for previously putting out that half-arsed chapter. Exams. 3am. Losing the will to live. You know how it is. But no more excuses - hopefully this fic will be an improvement (but feel free to review and point out otherwise - tactfully, preferably!)**

**NOTE: Any resemblance to any Da Vinci Code fanfic is wholly unintentional. This is a theoretical parody, and not a mockery of any existing piece. Original Female Characters are the lifeblood of fanfiction, and nobody is to be discouraged from writing about them, _right_:)**

-

_**'Insert pointless quote that looks cleverer than it really is here'**_

**-** St Mungojerry (AD147- 156), Patron Saint of Nosebleeds.

-

The cilice was causing a spot of bother.

Actually, that was a bit of an understatement - it was only 'a spot of bother' if your definition of 'a spot of bother' was 'inexplicably whopping puddles of blood all over the flaming shop that appeared to be spreading at an alarming rate with no intention of stopping'.

_It shouldn't be doing this! _thought Silas unhappily, clamping on a towel and hobbling unsteadily over to the dresser, where a few basic Bible-books and a medical dictionary were kept. He opened the book and thumbed through to the index. _Legs..legs..legs...ah, legs! Femoral artery? But...I was just tightening it a notch - how in God's name did I manage to pierce a hole deep enough to bleed this much! Look at these diagrams, it's a medical impossibility!_

_Unless_, Silas fretted, _some fanfic writer/melodrama-obsessed novelist **wrote** me violently bleeding!_

A small block of text caught his eye - **Warning: If this main artery is punctured, your patient will have no more than 4 minutes to live.**

Silas frowned, and looked at his watch.

_Oh, shi...!_

-

Amaria-Susquehanna Roseheart Longbottom sighed - and to be fair, _so would you _if you had a name like that.

Her name, by strict fic conventions, followed the rule that a Mary-Sue must have a name suggestive of great beauty. Unfortunately, her name had also changed direction halfway through, and attempted to follow the OTHER rule of Mary-Suedom, that Mary-Sue's Mary Sue-ishness must be disguised to make her a convincing character - and she _must not be called anything too fancy._ And, as you can see, the results were rather disastrous.

She was sighing...but enough of that, nobody _really_ gives a damn why. Let's cut to the REALLY VITAL BIT. Which is the all-important question of:

_**What colour hair did she have?**_

She could have been a fiery redhead. Or perhaps her hair was ebony (not merely black, remember, but..._ebony_). Or a startling, glorious honey blonde. Anything so long as it's not the colour which 90 of the normal european-caucasian population have, which is probably either an unmentionably biological shade of brown or the kind of grimy clay-gray that resembles the lovechild of a puddle and a hag.

As it happened, her hair was the sexiest shade of exotic jet-black ebony, which shone _shimmering violet _in the sunlight as the cascading _waterfall_ of floor-length hair caught the light, _crackling _with gothically dramatic beauty and gorgeously healthy, _silky_ enough to turn a L'Oreal model sick green with envy, _shot through _with _shining streaks _of positively edible purple, and veiling Amaria's pale, smoulderingly seductive body down to the ankles! And, you know, it grew like that naturally.And one day, when she rules the world, the Author is going to pass a_ law _against mentioning an OFCs hair or eye colour.

Ladies and (?)Gentlemen(?), meet Silas' love interest!

-

'Lucky we patched up your leg after that incident, eh, young man?' the Head of Silas' current Opus Dei centre said.

'Yes,' Silas nodded quietly in agreement. He hadn't meant to cause any trouble or give the Organisation any bad press, and the conversation at the hospital with the young doctor hadn't really helped:

_Doctor: So, what happened?_

_Silas: I accidentally severed my own artery. It was extremely foolish, I apologise for troubling you._

_Doctor: No, it's ok, accidents happen. What did you do it with - a powertool? A knife?_

_Silas: A cilice_

_Doctor: What's that?_

_Silas: It is...what is worn beneath my robes_

_Doctor: You mean like...underwear?_

_Silas: Kind of_

_Doctor (writing on Patient Progress Chart): Patient...lacerated...own artery...due to...underwear...being too tight. _

_Silas: Er..._

_Doctor: Well, it's crazy, but stranger things happen at sea! Just be sure to buy a bigger pair next time, ok?_

Silas sat quietly, his hands folded neatly on his lap. From now on, he would be a paragon of good behaviour, a credit to Opus Dei, and not turn a blind eye when the other numenaries flicked the channel during _'Songs of Praise' _to watch Wimbledon. Anyway, after all that nasty Da Vinci business, he needed to settle down.

'Would you care to show me the offending cilice?' the Opus Dei Head asked him, 'I beleive there was a Product Recall issued a few years ago on some faulty models - the Chaste-O-Matic 3000 had some nasty side effects, as I remember - but I had hoped that all of the faulty designs had been replaced by now. May I?' he held out his holy hand.

Silas fumbled in a voluminous pocket, and brought out his cilice. He laid it in the man's outstretched palm.

The man stared at it in shock.

'Silas...this is a **crocodile**!'

'Is it?' Silas frowned, peering myopically at the offending chastity-reptile. He poked it experimentally, feeling the dry contours of it's dead, stuffed body under his milky fingertips. The young crocodile, not more than eight inches long, was a fine specimen, it's jaws a little flaky due to years of being tightened up and down, but otherwise a valuable collectors item. The Head gaped at it, awed.

'Do you mean to tell me that you've been wearing this dead reptile around your thigh for all these years, and you never once noticed it wasn't a standard issue cilice! Silas, a cilice is just a little ring of metal with a few spikes in it, _not a fucking dirty great big reptile with inch-long teeth!_ For the love of God, _how_ have you not noticed!' the man screamed.

Silas raised his head from its currently position, drooping with shame. He coughed slightly.

'Well...it does _explain_ quite a lot, doesn't it?'

-

It had been an eventful week for Silas. No, not the pulse-racing excitement of being allowed marmite with his croissant (when you're this boringly holy, even the little things feel like an adventure), but the matter of being called to the Opus Dei centre Head's office twice in one week. Apparently, Silas had another task to carry out - no-one quite knew why, and yet everyone felt strangely compelled to usher him towards the office with the vague feeling that he somehow ought to be out having an adventure.

He sat down, his elegant frame folding up onto the antique chair like a strand of linguini.

'Well, to be fair', said the Head, looking out of the window as he addressed Silas, 'I don't _actually_ have a plan. I just know you have to go and meet a delicious wench for the purposes of this plot'.

'What?' Silas scratched his angel-coloured hair, thinking he hadn't heard right.

'I _said:_ I just know you'll have to meet with a vicious wrench if you trespass on the Lord's lot! Let it be known, Silas, sensations of the flesh and worldly pleasures are seen by the Lord, and he lays them out to tempt you – don't be getting involved in them, or you'll have a painful time tearing yourself away!' The Bishop wagged a finger ,'For is it not written '_And ye shall feel as though it were a band-aid, fulsomely being ripped-away from thy flesh, and taking all the tingly wee hairs on thine knee off into the bargain'_?

'Is it?'

'I don't know. It might be, somewhere' the Head answered, 'Anyway, the point is that I think have a task for you. There are thousands of other Opus Dei members I could send, of course - most of whom manage to fit into society a damn sight better than you and also don't look like something nasty that slithered out of _Star Wars_. But heck, I'm a lovely guy, and besides, you need to get out more'

'Master, I will get out more if it is the will of God. I think only of the best way to serve him'

The Head nodded seriously, and then inclined his head towards the ceiling,'God, if you wish Silas to undertake this mission, please give absolutely no sign at all!'

Nothing happened.

'Ah! You see? God wills it!' he shook hands with Silas and handed him the mission code. Little did Silas know, the Head's orders not to fraternise with hot (or at least lukewarm) Mary-Sue girls were about to be severely tested!

-

Back in his car, Silas opened it. A digital, robotic voice began to issue from a little speaker in the side of the electronic mission statement.

_Listen carefully for instructions. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is…wait a minute, are you Tom Cruise? _

'No, sorry, wrong actor'

_Warning: violation! Mission access denied. This message will automatically self-destruct in three seconds _

Silas stared at it for two, then:

'Oh, shit!' he said, lobbing it out of the window. Fortunately, it only blew the head off of a sparrow.

-

**To be continued...**

Hugest thanks to anyone who previously left reviews for me - seriously, massively appreciate them, even if it's just a few words. It's good to know I've caused such widespread havoc and coffee-spilling at cybercafes and laptops across the globe :D .


	2. A Drainpipe with a Nose

-

The moods of Silas came in several different flavours - there was Violent!Silas, Emotional!Silas, Cilice!Silas, TemporarilyWorryinglyQuiet!Silas and a few others. As his Train of Thought was forced to pull into a station, distracted by two sneering faces nosing in his Audi window with a:

'Hey, Brother Cadfael! 'Sup?'

he went into Bonkers!Silasmode to scare them away. His eyes began to change colour, switching slowly from piercing blue through to a violent lilac and then to a demonic red. Then, like a cheap mood ring, they became yellow, tartan, and orange with blue polka-dots in quick successsion. When they began to give off a UV glow, the two troublemakers froze for a second, realised nobody except a '_Big Brother' _housemate had any reason to look that demented, and ran away screaming.

_So_, thought Silas to himself (getting back to considering the mysterious lack of instructions), _by strange coincidences, and for no obvious reason, I've ended up on the OUTSIDE of the Opus Dei centre, not the INSIDE. Perhaps it is the will of God. Certainly, some higher power seems to be in control. I shall go a walk, and hope for a sign from Him._

Unfortunately for Silas, the only higher power at work was the irresistable pull of the Mary-Sue Fanfiction - which is stronger than a cathedral-sized magnet, faster and more inevitable than a well-aimed bullet, and more frighteningly adept at seeking out a sexy male than a...really,_ really _frightening, adept thing.

-

'_Hoodie_ yob? I do not know what you mean!' said Silas, trying to pacify an irate granny who'd just molested him in the street. _And I was just innocently walking along_, he wailed to himself.

'Yes, you do, you Red-Bull-swilling _Chav_! That's the biggest hoodie I've ever _seen_!' the old lady hooted back.

'Hoo-die?' Silas frowned, trying to figure out the new word.

'It's right down to your ankles! What are you trying to hide! A stolen iPod? A knife?'

'My naked body?' Silas tried helplessly.

'Don't you give me cheek, young man,' snapped the cranky old biddy, bradishing her zimmer frame.

'But these are the robes of a monk,' Silas said, 'Not a _hoo-die'_

'Hah! That's the stupidest excuse I've ever heard, you young tearaway - now: what have you been up to, eh,' she cried furiously, as Silas gave up, placed her gently to one side of the street and carried on his way,'Vandalism? Grafitti? Mugging defenceless old ladies?Eh? _Eh_? Don't you walk away when I'm talking to you!'

Silas resisted the urge to gently assist her in the direction of the nearby wet cement.

He sighed. He found himself doing this a lot in fanfiction, so he did it again for good measure. Why did people always stare at him and think the worst? Was it the hair? The eyes? The fact gladiator sandals were _SO last season_? Or might it, maybe, possibly, _even_ be the fact he was walking down the street dressed like he was about to jump on a black horse, and chase after small, tubby, young men, waving a sword and demanding they hand over the One Ring?

Silas didn't know.

However, he was roused from his musings by none other than...

'_Hey, MISTER!_

...the obligatory 'Silas meets Cute Button-Nosed Child' scene.

A tiny hand tugged at his robes, and a tiny pair of eyes met his own, as a tiny person with a very big, irritating voice stared rudely up at him.

'Hey Mister,' said the child, 'You're ugly!'

'I know,' growled Silas, pausing a second to give his fans' hearts time to break, and swept by the obnoxious little brat, focusing his mind on God. Truly, you could always trust a six-year old to be blunter than a economy-sized battering-ram. And, looking at it from a child's point of view, it probably wasn't exactly a picnic to crane your neck up to his thin, six-foot-three frame - in fact, the view probably resembled a drainpipe with a nose. The child, however, seemed to think it would be a good idea to hang about and ruin Silas' day a litle more. The boy pranced beside him, skipping merrily and keeping up. Naturally, his parents were a set of irresponsible gits and were nowhere within a hundred-mile radius.

'Buy me an icecream, Mister!' the kid demanded.

'No'

'Please,' said the child quickly.

'I said no'

'Buy me one!'

'What if I don't?'

'I'll scream 'Kiddiefiddler' really loudly and point at you'

Silas growled, and turned to the child, who didn't just stick its tongue cheekily out at him, but flipped its eyelids up to show white, yanked its mouth sideways, and stuck two breadsticks up its nose. The result was utterly grotesque. Silas was aware of a number of things. One was a fatherly desire to wag a finger sternly at the child, make him say sorry, and then buy him an icecream as a reward. The other was a deep-rooted longing for a lost childhood. And the third was a desire to walk right back to that patch of cement and stick the child's head in it.

'Look, why can you not just be _nice_?' he said helplessly, 'Like children are in books...well, in _one_ book...in the only book I know, the Bible, anyway'

'You've only read ONE book? Mister, are you STUPID or something? I've read 'Biff and Chip' FIVE WHOLE TIMES, aaaandd I read '_Matilda'_, aaaannnd I read three pages of '_Harry Potter'_, aaaaaaaannnd it's really thick aaaaaaannnd I read...

Silas was paying no attention. He was busy praying. There is a Bible verse that begins 'Suffer the little children...', and OH, how he liked the sound of _that_. An inner voice was saying _'That's not really in context, is it? The full quote is 'Suffer the little children to come unto me, and...'_

Shut up! he screamed inside his own head.

'Hey Mister,' the child squawked again, scratching its nit-infested head, 'Are you crazy or something?'

'No'

'My Mama says talking to yourself is the first sign of madness'

'Does she'

'And she says eating carrots makes your eyes glow in the dark'

'Really'

'And she says my Papa's a motherfucking asshole, but I don't know what that means - hey Mister, do _you _know what it means?'

'No. Go away'

Silas closed his eyes in a happy fantasy, replaying the last scene in his head as it _ought_ to have been:

_Walking down the pavement, Silas bent suddenly down to accept a small pink flower from a random small child (a clean, pretty one, not one of those fat ones that smelt funny) that randomly passed by, who kissed him wetly on the nose and randomly lisped ingratiatingly, 'Mithter, you look jutht like vanilla ithecream'. And Silas smiled warmly, glowing inside like a radioactive angel... _

'Hey Mister!' the child was shouting at him, 'Do you like Spider-man? I like Spider-man! Hey, watch me be Spider-man...look, look, hey, come ON, you're not _looking_...Mister? Hey Mister, how come you're running away from me...?'

-

Amaria-Susquehannah Roseheart Longbottom (or Amaria,as we shall now call her, to avoid the Author contracting Repetitive Strain Injury repeatedly typing it out ) looked at her watch. She shook it. Maybe it was running slow. She checked the kitchen clock. That was strange. She was _sure_ a random sexy albino man was supposed to have dropped unconscious on her doorstep roundabout 2pm on Tuesday. She'd baked biscuits and everything.

She stood in front of the row of warm cookies, looking out the window and guiltlessly nibbling the ears off of the biscuit bunnies, knowing that she could have drunk a vat of cream and still kept her perfect 42-22-32 figure. As she peered out of the window, totally ungrateful for her 20/20 vision that meant no unflattering spectacle-wearing, a white figure in a brown robe legged it past the window, gibbering. It was clearly either in a terrible rage or an Amish who'd just read the Da Vinci Code. It bawled long strings of Latin at the sky, occasionally shaking his fist at the hedge and shouting 'Spiderman!' in a foreign accent. He paused momentarily to re-buckle a loose sandal, and then continued on his angry way. Amaria realised there were three things wrong with this:

a) he wasn't dropped

b) he wasn't unconscious

c) he wasn't on her doorstop

That, and he should probably have been bleeding or limping or something bandageable like that.

Tossing the suckably glossy tendrils of her gorgeous hair over one shoulder, she wrinkled her perfect pixie nose in resignation, and loaded her shotgun. Matters, it seemed, were now in her own enviably well-manicured hands...

-

**xlawa: **Bless you! Or your religion's equivalent!

**Erin:** Bless you also. I'm sure we're all in agreement of the inherent fascinating-ness of Silas' undercrackers.

**BelleEve:** Your BatB fic is going to, and does, rock (seriously, peoples, go to her profile and see!)

**Bastetgirl:** Very kind :)

**LaRosaAzul:** Oh lordy, no! Didn't mean to cause you pain...I cannot add a warning, though, lest it look as if my head has ballooned to airship-sized proportions! May your teeth situation heal well.

**the ephemeron:** 'accepts banana' Most gracious...nicest present I've had in ages :) Have you strawberries?

**Sternenlicht:** Glad for you. And charmed we're all so european and multicultural here!

**adeline7g:** Yes, pleasant. The most useful reviews are the ones that say exactly which jokes were liked.

**Rahalia:** ;) Wish I were, wish I were (the things I'd do...) but thankyou greatly.

**Deedee:** Most kind. And your site is the most beautifully-run source of inspiration. We are grateful.

**Lightsource:** Thankyou, and may your hiccups ever diminish.

**Countess Verona Dracula:** 'blushes' Calm it, calm it :D But still, I am most pleased to have it said to me. I will continue. I will write until I run out of good ideas.

**Shy FX:** Wimbledon? It COULD have been a reference. That film maybe wasn't topmost in my brain - rom-com jollity and healthful sports-playing are WAY too wholesome for someone who exists on a diet of marmite, weak alcohol and cherries! Thanks. :)

**Lycanthropia: **Thankyou...I think...'wails' Why does everyone hate me? Laughter's supposed to be GOOD for you!

(And thanks to **LilyCurly** of the forums coughcoughthatIdon'toccasionallylurkincough for similar pleasant comments)


	3. Somewhere Hard and Quacky

**Normally I'm too unpleasant to be the kind of person who makes any apology for a late update – but actually, everyone here is so charming and has been so honeyed, that they really do deserve a reason:**

_**Laptop crashed, file containing vital drafts of fic stuck on said laptop. Twelve-day wait and 30GBP fine to get files burnt onto DVD as backup before sending laptop off to be fixed. I hate computers, I heart PC World's fix-it desk, The End. :D**_

**And mighty upset I was about not being able to write, I might add. Horrendous fun. Reviews to the usual wotsit, if you're feeling charitable.**

-

The bullets hit Silas.

_'Ow! Oww! Ow_!' he screamed, in a passable Michael Jackson impression.

Although he usually suffered in silence when it came to pain, the agony of simultaneously being shot in the ear, kneecap and pinkie was surprisingly acute. He howled bestially, writhing about and making alarmingly orgasmic facial expressions. He paused to listen to the soundof female brains melting. But...something was _wrong_ with this picture...

His injuries were completely baffling! Why not just shoot him in the heart? After all, very few people have actually died of Multiple Earlobe Injuries, when you get down to it. Whoever was shooting at him was either a)insane, b)a really crap shot, or c)...

-

_Amaria the Mary-Sue _sighed.

True, she did that a lot, but this time there was a reason.

Silas just _would not be shot!_ Or rather...she had assumed that, being a Mary-Sue, she'd naturally be perfect at any activity she attempted (except for that one fatal weakness connected to a Terrible Childhood Trauma). And yet, aiming the damn thing was surprisingly difficult...

'Stay still! Stop wriggling about, God damn you!' she cried, gun held out in front of her in a manner that meant business, 'You _have_ to be properly shot else how do we do a hurt/comfort scene? So nobody else had the decency to shoot you! _Ok,_ I can deal with that - but will you at least let _me_ have a try?'

Silas, who was too far away to hear her screaming to herself, curled up into a ball.

'Great! Way to go, Mister Hedgehog!' she yipped in frustration. She took aim in a last million-to-one chance.

_YES!_

'Gotcha!' she said, tossing the gun in a dustbin and running out of the hidden alleyway with her arms outstretched. Silas took one look at her bouncing form, with its purple hair streaming out behind, and promptly felt ten times worse.

'Oh no!' she reached him, cradling his peroxide head and cuddling it embarrasingly aganst her ample bosom, 'Awww, did someone _shoot_ you? Why, whoever would DO such a thing? How mysterious! We'd better get you checked out!'

'Get away from me, you _weirdo,_' Silas whimpered.

'Awwwww! Bless his cotton socks, he's delirious with the pain!' cooed Amaria, 'Doesn't know what he's saying, the poor sausage!'

Silas blacked out.

-

When he came to, his resist-temptation-to-write-adjective-here eyes opened once again, and he found he was still lying on his back, head still throbbing miserably, wounds still bleeding merrily.

_That's not right_, he thought, _I'm no expert on fanfic, but aren't I supposed to be recovering somewhere soft and flumpy, not somewhere hard and...quacky?_ he considered, as a line of ducks waddled comically by, en route to the nearby duckpond.

_Of all the laughably stupid places to get shot...! _Silas thought, wincing as a small child aimed a stale bread roll at the ducks, missed, and cracked Silas on the skull with it instead, _I pick a public duckpond._

'Please get me out of here. Small children are hurling crackers at me,' he said to Amaria, noticing she was still flapping about nearby.

'I know! Look, I'm working on it!' she wrung her hands distractedly, unsure of what to do. Technically, everyone would like to think that if they came across a beautiful, fallen angel like Silas, bleeding tragically on the path, they would surely whip off their favourite hoodie to staunch his wounds, cut off all their hair to make a tourniquet, magically summon up the strength to yank him to safety, and perform open heart surgery on the spot with only three twigs and a pair of eyebrow tweezers.

In reality, most people would make exactly like Amaria, which was blither about uselessly, panicking, until they figured out what to do.

'You could start by phoning an ambulance,' Silas suggested.

'No, _duh_, I can't do that! That's such a crap set-up for a romance fic, I mean - love amongst the ventilators? It's so _gory_, all those bacteria and coffee machines and crazy old men. Uh-uh. No way, Jose'

'But I'm dying!'

'Oh, it's all '**Me,Me,Me!'** isn't it?'

Fortunately for her, the rest of the landscape magically kick-started into Mary-Sue-dom. It had finally realised it was supposed to be fitting in with her world-view. As if by magic, several concerned passers-by who had nothing better to do with their time conveniently appeared on the scene. They leapt into action.

'Don't worry, I'm a nurse!' said the first passer-by.

'Don't worry, I'm a doctor!' said the second.

'Don't worry, I'm a lapdancer!' said the third.

'That's great, Lola,' said Amaria, ushering her away, 'But Silas really doesn't need that kind of assistance right now'.

'Gosh, he's as pale as a...white thing,' said everyone in unison, remembering to notice it twice for good measure - for although it hasn't been socially acceptable to point out how black, brown or otherwise ethnically colourful someone is since about 1970, apparently it's still ok to point out how_ white _someone is. Had it been the other way round, twenty people would have jumped on whoever uttered the heinious words, carted them off to prison for being a racist, and been on the Nine O'Clock News as the traumatised victim of hate crime.

As it was, Silas just said 'Ouch' and fainted with pain again.

'So: how did you come to be treating a hobo dressed like Jesus in a duckpond, exactly?' the Doctor quizzed Amaria.

'Er...!'

**-**

**Lots of happy thanks to:**

**Adeline7 ('_Blessed are the sweet'_ – The Book of Fuchsia, ch 54,867, v1-3), LaRosaAzul, Shy FX , Malaysian Gal, Xlawa, Countess Verona Dracula, Rodentfanatic, Schmergirl, The ephemeron, BelleEve, Sweetgirl99, Lycanthropia (Bless you, my Mamma's the same. The only way to tell if a joke is funny when you write it, is to test it on yourself and see if you laugh...it's just I actually find completely ordinary things like custard hilariously funny as well as any jokes, so sometimes it gets quite frighteningly noisy in here.), Elaine, DeeDee and LilyCurly of the Paul Bettany Dot Com forums, and part-man part-biscuit Mr Bettany for being an inspiringly deranged and hilarious gutterbrain. Please, Academy, for the love of God, give that 'Best Supporting Actor' Oscar to the person it _belongs _to.**


	4. His Glorious Malebino Form

**Justby-the-by: that note about my laptop crashing _was not_ a pack of lies! If anyone wants my PC World bill emailed to them, they are welcome to it :D. If I DID get too busy or lazy to update, I would simply say so - without false modesty, although I massively appreciate the feedback , I'm sure a little laziness over a few online scribblings is hardly a matter of life and death!**

* * *

_'Your Silas is dead'_

There was a pause, and then the other voices started up:

'Hey, not fair! _My _Silas is dead too!'

'AND mine'

'Man, that's awful – we should take them back to the shop and complain!'

'Yeah!'

'''Fully Poseable'', my arse! I want a replacement Silas - our Silases are all broken!'

And so, in the fevered dreams of Silas, the surreal figures stomped back off angrily to 'the shop' and out of his aching mind. He was not dead, of course - he just_ felt _like it. He had dreamt a dream; and this time it wasn't the one involving the giant hamster and two pounds of purple stilton. He lay there, dazed. Fingers pointed, voices muttered and his wound felt as though it was being dressed with all the gentleness of an octopus in boxing gloves.

Silas awoke.

An angel was bending over him. It was a tall, slim, beauty of an angel with bewitching violet eyes. To be fair, there are probably small, fat, balding uglies of angels withmouth ulcersas well - it's just nobody ever wants to write about them.

'Hello,' she cooed breathily, 'I'm Amaria Susquehanna Roseheart Longbottom'

'Bonjour,'replied Silas, 'I'm someone who doesn't care'

Amaria sat back, affronted. She hauled her front back and put back a bold front.

'Well, you should care! I just saved your life!'

'No, you didn't. Those doctors did. _You_ flapped about in circles screaming, until you ran into a wall'.

'Oooh, _I'm_ Mister Nitpick, I _nitpick _everything!' she mimicked, rolling her purple eyes, 'Big deal. The point is, you're here. We had to come here, because it's here. Yeah. It's mine. And the decor is _way_ better than the hospital'

Silas regarded his surroundings from his position on the living-room couch. They were in an apartment, an apartment so achingly cool and trendy that it actually_ hurt_. Shades of ice-white, indigo and black abounded, with armies of chrome CD racks and a whole herd of black leather chairs moo-ing in the corners. Nobody who looked as though they spent that _much_ time applying lipgloss and that_ little _time at work should have been able to afford it.

'Are you alright?' Amaria asked, pasting her 'anxious' face back into position, conscious that this was all taking a very long time and maybe she should've soulfully stroked his forehead a few times by now.

Silas gaped at her.

'_Am I alright_? I have just been _shot_ in the...well, actually, of all the strange places to get shot, someone managed to directly hit my left _inner thigh_...'

'Hah,' blared Amaria, slapping his knee chummily, 'Imagine if they'd hit you three inches higher!'

Silas stared at her, lower lip quivering. What was this woman ON?

'Hey, that was a joke...!' she began to retort, but then remembered he HAD spent the last twenty years in situations that didn't exactly call for rib-tickling Monty Python renditions. It was understandable that he posessed about as much sense of humour as a depressed turnip.

A tumbleweed rolled by in the silence.

'You would not know..._who_ shot me, would you?' Silas quizzed.

'Who, me? Naaaaaah!' she flicked the question away with a wave of her hand, 'Not a clue! ANYWAY, let's swiftly and totally not in any way that says I'm hiding something change the subject...we should get you out of these clothes'

It was a good idea. _Any_ female, probably including tiny ten-legged ones that lived under rocks, would have seen the wisdom of it.

Still, Silas shrank back miserably, like a saddened puppy from its worming pills.

He did not want to be _naked_ with this lunatic of a woman, however much messy red strawberry jam his robes were covered in! The way she stared at him, tongue lolling like a dead starfish, eyes rolling like ping-pong balls, drool puddling gently across her cleavage...well, it was _scary_. She was precisely the kind of lascivious, apple-sucking Eve he'd been warned to avoid, and he wasn't stupid enough to wander around with no fig leaf on.

'That's a bad idea,' he said firmly.

'Oh, now you're being silly! We can't have you wearing these bloodstained robes...'

'Well, thankyou for your concern...'

'...you'll really mess up my couch!'

'Oh'

'Plus it'll probably be uncomfy for you. So come on, no nonsense now...'

Silas, feeling extremely sick, drew the blankets up past his nose and peeped over the top in_ utter horror_. His stilton-mould-coloured eyes, small and shining, peered at her in fright as she advanced on him, legs akimbo and a grim expression on her pale face.

'Now, let's just _whip this out_...'

Silas closed his eyes and prayed for death.

'...the thermometer, that is'

Amaria turned to look at him in puzzlement, hands on hips ,'Are you ok?'

'Yis!' he squeaked, then lowered his voice to its proper _'I-vant-to-zuck-your-blood'_ Draculaccents, 'I mean, _yuuus_'.

She read the thermometer.

'Sorry, I stuck it under your arm while you were unconscious. Lucky you didn't roll over! I'd kind of forgotten it was there...'

So kind, thought Silas, loving the way he'd nearly had 6 inches of broken glass and quicksilver stuck into his arm. As if he didn't have enough worries already.

'Anyway, the good news is that there's no fever here!'

But Silas, eyeing up her panting, heaving, dribbling form, thought_ I'm not too certain about that_...

'Oh, but I _am_ tired,' he said suddenly, faking a huge yawn and snapping back into a pretend sleep as though elasticated. Even _she_ wouldn't be weird enough to whip all his clothes off whilst he was _asleep._ Hopefully.

Amaria gazed mistily back down at him, as he curled fretfully up into the blankets, exhausted by pain and by being repeatedly freaked out. So beautiful, she thought dreamily, so delicate, so pure, his glorious malebino form just lying there _oozing_ testosterone...

'Hey! Clean that up!'

'Sorry,' Silas said, mopping up the puddle...

---------

**With many grateful, blushful thanks to: Aljinon, LaRosaAzul, ShyFX, Kelly Tolkein (Are your...insides alright now, my dear?), singleframes, Serina, BelleEve, Lycanthropia, Schemergirl, sweetgirl99 (perfectionism? Hey, good excus...I mean_ word_, yes, WORD. I like it! ) Elaine, Cleopatra Selene, and Jack Aubrey's lovely, enormous breeches (for no particular reason. I just felt they were something to be thankful for). **

**And once again, I say that I hope I haven't offended anyone, and anyone who percieves fics like this as a) an attack or b) not affectionate, has _really misunderstood _the nature of parody. I've added a note to my profile that should clear it up for anyone still feeling this way - it is never my intention to bully, upset or otherwise hurt another writer.**


	5. Things Made of Bunny

**True, the updating of this fic is un-speedy for someone who (due it being 1 day 'til her exam results get here and her being a gibbering wreck!) divides her time between her laptop and hibernation. And I refuse to acknowledge writer's block. So I confess. I spent time listening to Britney Spears and making nonsensical Bettany-themed Motivational Posters instead - and check out Rahalia's as well! Link is (plus the usual w w w part)**

******-**

I've noticed you around.

Umm...I find you very attractive!

Would you, um, would you...would you go to bed with me?

** -** _Complete lyrics of 'Would You', by Touch & Go_

**-**

Many things in this world are white, such as spaghetti carbonara, pillows, and certain vaguely icky bodily fluids.

However. Silas was only ever described in terms of the beautiful ones (Italian marble, moonlight etc), because frankly, describing him as 'as white as a large plate of porridge' just wasn't _romantic_- although it might appeal if you were feeling peckish.

Amaria looked down at his snoozy lily-white form, and strangely found herself feeling very virtuous for 'looking beyond' Silas ''_horrific_'' exterior and finding a beautiful man inside.

And this was very odd, because there were probably blind, deaf, Sumatran lepers with an IQ of 3 who could have pointed out that Silas was NOT, in fact, a droolingly hideous freak of nature, but a sexy, screamingly handsome man rendered in uber-cool shades of ice white instead of pink. To identify Silas as anything _other_ than six foot three of searingly hot walking sex, you would have to be a) clinically insane or b) A Mary-Sue.

Oh God, thought Silas as he woke up after the little nap, his vision entirely filled by the top-heavy hourglass of Amaria's figure. It _hadn't _been just a nightmare.

She trilled brightly at him.

'Wakey wakey, chocolate cakey! Your coffee's on the tray'

'Oh. Weren't there any cups?'

'Duh?' gawped Amaria, temporarily fazed. Cutesy jokes and witty comebacks were supposed to be _her_ territory. She recovered.

'Guess you must be hungry'

'Mademoiselle, I...'

'_Amaria_ will do'

'Will do what, I wonder?' muttered Silas miserably.

'Heh-heh - wouldn't _you_ like to know?' Amaria cackled, waggling her skimpy eyebrows, suggesting underfed caterpillars mating on her forehead.

'Not really...' Silas stared at the floor in despair.

'I made bunny cookies!' she pranced, ghastly in her cheerfulness. Silas frowned. Did she not realise he was a monk?

'That is very kind. But, should you not have noticed, I am actually an Opus Dei numenary...' he watched Amaria's eyes screw up - words of over 3 syllables upset her. Silas simplified:

'...a _monk_. The religious order only permits eating simple food'

Amaria pouted childishly, 'But I iced the whiskers and everything!'

'I can't eat things made of bunny!'

'Who says?'

'God does'

'Tchah! What-eva! And he just _rules the world_, does he?'

Silas counted to ten under his breath, and punched a cushion.

_'Yes,_ Amaria, God rules the world, the universe and everything in it, including you,' he said, adding mentally 'and oh, man, he's taken to moving in REALLY mysterious ways just lately...'.

'Ok...,' Amaria sighed, deflated, 'Well, if I see about something suitable to eat, will you go upstairs and shower and stop bleeding all over the upholstery? Of course, I'll have to put that robe in the washing machi...'

Silas, ten steps ahead of her lustfully see-through dribblings, decided to keep his dignity intact. Whisking the throw off of the back of the couch, he swathed it modestly about his elegant form, and limped slowly upstairs in the proud fashion that befitted his dignified self - a living Renaissance-era painting with perfectly-swathed drapes framing his tapered limbs. He turned to throw her his mangled and bloody robes.

They landed squarely on her head.

-

Let's just re-iterate, thought the naked Silas as he turned the hot water on.

True, many sinners would be delighted to find this purple barbie-doll chasing after them with such enthusiasm. But this is ME:

I've been conditioned by Opus Dei for 12 years plus to abhor all women as physically repulsive.

Before that, hairy European men and a rather porcine jailer did terrible, terrible things with root vegetables to me in a French prison when they got a little lonely at night. For _12 years_.

Before _that_, I scraped an existence in doorways and alleys with a bunch of hookers and street urchins, so-called because they're just the kind of spiky people you _wouldn't_ want to step on. 'Affection' basically went as far as being generous enough to share your syringe.

And before THAT, my childhood consisted of his father playing football with my mother's head, being hated and scorned by...well, everyone, and the only little girl in the playground who was ever nice to me being dragged off by her mamma with a 'Nice little girls don't talk to inbred freaks, Hortense!'

'_Catalogue of woes' _would be a understatement!

I would not consider self-pity. God has a plan for me, and he has kept me safe all this time. And I'm going straight back to the Opus Dei centre to think on what it is, when all this claptrap is over!

Oh, alright.

If I _did_ think about it for just a second:

_Maybe_, with several years of intensive therapy and a few courses of medication, I might, _if _she was very unthreatening and didn't make any sudden movements, be able to give a member of the female sex a peck on the cheek, without flinching. If ever I was to...fraternise...with someone (barring being out-of-my mind for some reason) (Note to Self: Rohypnol in my coffee Oh Dear) , it should probably be a trained psychologist with a lot of time on her hands and a LOT of love to give, not a Ribena-haired bimbo with two watermelons down her top. I suspect she may even have Childhood Angst. But that's really not helpful, seeing as I've got enough for both of us and more! And before any little voices in my head point it out, yes, lust comes to me - just not over Amaria the Human Toothpick. Maybe someone really _cuddly_...all tawny and golden-haired with freckles and huge-beautiful brown eyes, definitely all soft and cuddly and with really..._ANYHOO. _

But I didn't just think that last paragraph. Even though God can see inside my head.

Dammit, where's a Discipline when you need one!

I love icy-cold water, don't you? It's so...icy-cold.

_Note to Self: Buy pocket-size travel Discipline_.

-

_Right_, thought Silas as Amaria came up the stairs_, you want to play games, yes? You want to have me break all my vows, and sin just because you reckon albino skin tastes like custard! Well, two can play that game! You don't care about me, you just want to get into my robes - and beleive me, I can make you regret it!_

Amaria turned the corner, and her jaw dropped.

Silas.

She was confronted by the sight of him; wet, dripping, naked bar a very small black towel slung low about his strong hips.

He re-adjusted the towel, barely covering his pert albino arse though it was, undoing it temporarily to re-knot it, throwing her achingly teasing peekaboos of taut white flesh. Droplets of water caressed across his fine shoulders and slid wetly, unhurriedly, pleasurably down the length of his glorious body, hardening his nipples provocatively and pouring themselves ecstatically into allsorts of delicious hollows and crevices. He arched his pale frame slowly, rolling his head gracefully back and stretched luxuriously. His lips pounted faintly, his hipbones jutted teasingly, and his angel-blue eyes looked right at Amaria.Women would have wept for him. Nuns would have thrown themselves at him. Michelangelo's '_David_' would have turned green with envy and thrown rocks at him. He. Was. _Gorgeous._

Through the white fog in her rapidly-melting brain, Amaria wondered why the theme tune to the Diet coke advert appeared to be playing.

Silas, smiling sexily, shook the water energetically from his ambrosia hair, his taut muscles rippling under his white-hot-like skin, his long, lithe, luscious limbs practically _purring _at her. He hooked one thumb about the waist of his towel.

'Bonjour,' he said simply, 'Are these your eyeballs?'

'Mhnaaaaaaah,' choked Amaria, stunned, accepting and quickly replacing them.

'Oh, but I had better go get dressed. I'm making everything _wet_!' said Silas innocently.

'Gnmaaaaaah,' Amaria wailed once again, her melted brain slowly oozing out of her ears. Wordlessly, she watched him saunter slinkily back in the doorway, looking back over his shoulder with the faintest of smiles.

His towel was in disarray. He put one foot inside the doorway, sighed, and cheekily whipped it right off (the towel, not the door).

Amaria, faint with lust, panted asthmatically and allowed thoughts to seep back into her testosterone-saturated brain. Taking it as an invitation, she followed the naked Silas back into his room, slinking up to him with a breathy sigh of '_Oh Silas, I...!'_

There was a pause.

'You...what?' he squinted at her.

'Dunno, that's all I got. I think you were supposed to kiss me at that point, and then make passionate love to me fourteen times in a row'

Silas visibly recoiled in horror, covering his nude self embarrasedly with a larger towel, and suddenly he looked mortified beyond reason.

Amaria cringed in terror as he condemned her, his guttral accents quaking with righteous anger.

'Kiss...? K...KISS?' he wailed in revolted outrage,'but it is forbidden to me...Opus Dei,I...I thought you understood...you can't...we can't,' he stammered, lower lip trembling. He looked as though he were about to scream, kill someone, or possibly attempt both.

'But you...but...' Amaria whined, confused beyond all reason and wholly embarrased.

'But...?' Silas howled miserably,'it's not an act...I'm an emotional maelstrom! A shattered, sexless wreck! A one-man Radiohead album!'

'Oh, I see. Oh, Silas, I'm sorry! Please forgive me!' she cried, distraught, boucing backwards out of the door and hurriedly slamming it.

'Leave me alone...please, please just don't touch me. It's a sin...a sin. I can't _bear_ it,' Silas whimpered, stuffing a pale fist into his mouth to keep from giggling.

'I...look, I really am sorry,' her voice issued through the timbers of the door, utterly subdued,'I'll just...go downstairs now'.

The footsteps pattered mournfully away.

_Heh-heh_, went the tiny part of his brain that still remembered what 'fun' was.

---

**With much grateful thanks for supportful and cheering reviews: Shy FX ( :D No, no, of course you didn't offend me, my dear. 'Tis quite alright, I don't mind. Proper misunderstanding. All is well!), Aljinon (excellent suggestion re _feelings_...but I've possibly got a different and twistful ending in mind), xlawa, BelleEve, adeline7g/Serina, Malaysian Gal, Elaine, Kelly Tolkein. **

**51 reviews. Good God. I'm so very pleasantly stunned.**


	6. The ChickChecker

Silas moonwalked down the stairs.

Amaria's eyes widened in alarm.

'Hey, why are you...?'

'Eh?' he replied, and proceeded to dance the funky chicken.

He then did a backflip, sang the entirety of 'Yellow Submarine' and saluted the toaster.

'Silas, what are you _doing_?'

'Mademoiselle, look: I'm psychotic, and I'm in a Mary-Sue. NOTHING I do has to make sense!' and with that, he donned a handy tophat and began to juggle with a handful of tomatoes.

Amaria was quite impressed, but said 'That's worrying. I think you should see a doctor'. Silas frowned and put down the tomatoes.

'I was merely illustrating a point,' he said coolly, 'It took much courage, with my...self-esteem...issues...,' he added in a modest tone, picking at the bowl of tuna pasta, and grimacing as he wished it was something french and tasty.

'I...,' began Amaria, her eyes lighting up with joy at the prospect of discussing Childhood Angst.

'...although if we are talking about needing a doctor, I_ was _shot in the leg this afternoon,' he said pointedly.

'Oh! The dressings!'

Silas squinted, thinking of salad.

'Ah. The dressings,' he said finally. And how _convenient_ from the point of view of anyone wanting to get him into...a certain situation...that said dressings were on his _left inner thigh_. But before he could tell her he'd taken a first aid class and was perfectly capable of keeping them tidy - she had knelt, flipped up the hem of his now-clean robe, and gasped in horror.

'What...is..._that_?' she squealed.

Silas toyed with a number of different answers. Most of them were unprintably obscene, but eventually he just said:

'A cilice'

'A what?'

'Sill - eese'

'Why...why are you wearing this? My God, look, it's sliced into your flesh!'

'Not nearly as badly as the old one,' he said happily, thinking of the crocodile.

'Why, Silas, _why_?'

'My religion likes me to wear it'

'Your religion likes you to wear _metal spikes around your thigh_?'

'So? Some religons like their followers to wear chicken suits and purple sunglasses'

'Really?'

'Oui. The Kentucky-fried Brotherhood of Holofernie. They're very distinctive'

'I can imagine,' Amaria tutted, her slow yet one-track mind gradually registering _exactly_ where she was kneeling. Silas looked down, alarmed. He thought fast:

'Hey, is that Paul Bettany?' he said, pointing out the window.

'WHERE!' Amaria shreiked, dazzled, star-struck and glittering all over. The auto-drool function began again.

'Aw, you just missed him. Gotta be quick, he's like lightning on those long legs! Maybe if you run, you can catch up with him!' Silas enthused, breathing a sigh of relief as she pounded joyously up the hallway, wrenched open the door, tripped over her cat, screamed in pain, sat up and said:

'Hey, wait a minute...!'

Silas hurriedly sat down at the table and quickly feigned fascination with the pepper-pot.

'Mademoiselle,' he said, after a long and uncomfy silence (neither of them could exactly be described as witty conversationalists),'I still do not know you. Perhaps we ought to introduce ourselves properly' _Perhaps I ought to don a ruffled skirt and dance the can-can_, he added mentally, plunged into sarcasm at the sight of her vacant gawping. Luckily, however, Amaria realised this might be an opening into discussing her Childhood Angst, and quickly agreed.

They adjourned to the sitting-room, Amaria with coffee, still whining at Silas' blunt refusal of a nibbly amaretti biscuit.

-

Silas and Amaria were getting on like a house on fire - that is, much longer in each other's company, and there would probably falling masonry and the neighbours running away screaming. It wasn't that Amaria had all the intellect of a piece of carpet fluff, it was just that she appeared to find using the other 98 of her probably quite intelligent brain unnecessary.

'You're like a Catholic?' she burbled, fluttering her eyelashes,'Wow...I used to go to a Catholic school. I did well at maths'.

'You did?'

'Yeah, soon as I saw that man nailed to the giant plus-sign, I knew they meant business!'

Silas stared in disbeleif. How could anyone be so...? _Oh, screw it,_ he thought, and gave up in disgust. He also debated not mentioning the exact ins and outs (or lack thereof) of Opus Dei's policies on celibacy, but he was a simple man, and besides, lying is a lot less fun when you know you're going to have to add one whiplash per fib to repent.

Amaria looked fascinated.

'So, you're chaste?'

'Sometimes. But I can usually out-run whoever's chasing'

'Huh? Oh, hah! Funny! Hee, you make me laugh'

Silas was taken aback - in his life, compliments were as rare as dodos and nowhere near as easy to digest. Besides which, he'd never really got the hang of humour or seen the point in it. Devotion to God was a serious business. Truly, the corrosive and wholly distressing presence of Amaria was probably causing him to come unstuck from his godly ways. No just God would subject a loyal servant of ten-ish years to this kind of trial - well, not after letting him be USED by religious leaders, SHOT by the police and POKED by Ian McKellan's walking stick, anyway.

And then Amaria was back to being her usual clotted self.

'So you're saying you've gone ten years without sex,' she squawked, ' Hah! That's nothing, I went _17!_'

Silas frowned, 'How old are you?'

'18'

'That's...slightly different...'

'Tchah. Suuuure it is' Amaria rolled her eyes. She seemed unwilling to drop the subject, 'You haven't slept with anybody in _ten years_...'

'Oui'

'Tchch, so you say! But whose job was it to check, eh! The _chick-checker_?' she said, howling with laughter.

'Mademoiselle, please!' barked Silas abruptly, 'My life's choices are my own - they do not deserve your mockery!'

Amaria swallowed. She looked down, becoming suddenly quiet.

'I'm...I'm very sorry, Silas. It's just, when people are uncomfy about an issue, they...they sometimes laugh to disguise their true feelings. It's just...my tragic past. Silas, I hope you can understand...'

Silas, at the end of his tether after a long and exhausting day, rubbed his wounded leg unhappily, and decided to play along with her nasty little mind-games.

'What?' he said softly, gazing into her irritatingly beautiul violet eyes.

'I...I didn't have the best of childhoods,' she sniffled, biting back tears. Silas gave her a symphathetic look, murmuring quietly:

'I did not either'

'Could I...tell you my secret?' she said, biting her full, pouty, probably-about-to-be-kissed lips. She hardly dared to hope. So many years of despair! So much trauma, so much pain! So many secrets, hidden away, unable to ever tell anyone. Could it finally be she had found someone to confide in?

'Yes,' he said simply, gazing a little deeper.

'When I was seven, my mother took me to join the Brownies A/N: Americans read 'Girlscouts',' Amaria began, 'I...I was so happy! They gave me a little yellow uniform, and that bag with the cute pink elephant on it, and...and...a special sash for all my badges. I was a real Brownie, Silas!' she cried, tears rolling down her face as she clutched at Silas. He leaned ever closer, his face like two tiny patches of blue sky, peeping out from a white expanse of clouds.

'Silas, this is the seat of my trauma and issues, all my bad self-esteem, the self-loathing and probably it's to blame for third world debt and the war in Iraq too! Silas: _I got bullied by the Pixies!_' she bawled, tears streaming as Silas clutched at her hand in concern,' I tried to get them to stop...but then the Gnomes joined in, and...and...Brown Owl wasn't looking. Oh, it was horrible, _horrible_, ten year olds all jeering and chanting and calling me '_aubergine head'_. Silas, oh Silas, they stamped on my cress egg-head...his little broken eggshell of a body, lying lifeless on the floor, cress seeds and damp cotton wool spilling everywhere...

_...**Silas, they killed my cress-man**_

****

She wept, sobbing brokenly now, all the pain flowing out in a watery gush.

Silas couldn't bear to see her like this - so painful, so upset, so distressed. Plus the snot streaming down her chin was a real turn-off.

He leant in towards her as if to comfort her, azure eyes aglow, and she stopped crying, to look back at him, transfixed by the love reflected in his beautiful eyes. They leant in together, looking so deeply, lips parting faintly, surprisedly and...CRACK!

'Ow!

'Owww!'

Apparently, ten years of kiss-free celibacy _will_ make you forget to turn your head to one side.

Amaria rubbed her sore forehead painfully, as Silas, dazed and seeing stars, leant forward, cupping his bashed head in his hands. He rocked back and forth in silent pain.There was an embarrased pause.

'Um. I don't suppose we could resume where we left off?' Amaria suggested, blowing her nose, totally unconcerned about the Brownie issue now that it had served plot-wise.

Her eyes reflected her pain. Silas sat up, misty-eyed, and stared straight into her eyes, wondering just _how many _pairs of eyes there actually _were _on this sofa now. He reached out to touch her gently on one flawless, snow-white cheek, and stroked softly. She sighed.

Silas gazed deep into her eyes, embraced her, and said soulfully:

'That story had sod all to do with mocking my celibacy, didn't it?'

Amaria swallowed and pouted, muttering a grudging 'yes'. Silas leant towards her, paused to whisper:

'It was, in fact, completely irrelevant, wasn't it?'

'Yes,' Amaria whimpered, pressing urgently against him, desirous of his beautiful white body and his warm arms around her. Silas leant in, and his lips touched hers and everything...just...felt...dizzy. Amaria kissed back hungrily, tugging at the front of his newly-washed robes as Silas deepened the hot kiss, his snowy hands roaming all over her sofa cushions. Amaria's eyes flickered open momentarily to witness his gorgeous face as it flinched in disgust. _Poor Dear_! Amaria thought, squeezing her legs around him with enough force to crack a walnut, _those Mopus Mei people must've really brainwashed him_! And she grabbed his pasty backside lewdly to reassure him. They kissed for what felt like _seconds_ on end. Silas flailed helplessly as she pinned him back again the couch, whimpering in what sounded like utter horror, but Amaria reassured herself was bestial lust. She straddled him, and bent to undo...

...but something was horribly wrong.

Amaria shook her head muzzily. She sat up. Ow! Ow, how come it HURT!

'Pain! Pain,' she gurned, choking horribly.

Silas smiled at her, and delicately nibbled out one single jalapeno chilli seed from between his lips.

He pushed her away and sat up calmly, arranging his robes with dignity as Amaria proceeded to pluck at her tongue in the manner of a Looney Tunes character on crack.

'Mademoiselle, I hoped you would not mind,' he inclined his head courteously,'but these chillies are in accordance with Opus Dei's thinking. They provide an excellent substitute whilst our Disciplines are away being dry-cleaned. I took some from your kitchen, I'm afraid - would you like one?' he proferred a handful of the searingly hot jalapenos generously, and delicately nibbled another one, quite undisturbed by its fiery taste. Amaria shock her head violently, and galloped to the kitchen for a glass of water - or, failing that, a fire blanket.

Silas sucked thoughtfully on the end of another scarlet jalapeno. He cringed inwardly at having to resort to such a childish trick, _but then_, he reasoned, _being the dysfunctional emotional cripple I am, I can probably get away with it._ Technically, Amaria had been fortunate - under normal circumstances, grabbing Silas and forcibly snogging him would result in sensations of such terminal rage and horror that the snoggee would have their neck twisted and their disembodied head kicked halfway to Madagascar before they could blink. When you think about it, she'd had a lucky escape.

-

He bid a rather sulky Amaria good-night, and limpingly ascended the stairs to his bedroom.

Contrary to popular belief, his thoughts were NOT of God, Amaria naked, or his traumatic childhood. No, he had only one thing on his mind - _escape_. He told himself he really should've just barged out the door by now, but broad daylight, a leg still prone to leaking strawberry jam at inconvenient moments, and a nagging sense of politeness had prevented him. After all, it was only him at stake, and not (as previously) The Future Of Religion As We Know It.

_I have to get out of here_, he thought, heading for the window.

_'Windowlocks!' _Amaria trilled, trundling merrily into his room, clamping one onto the window and screwdriving it quickly into place.

'Why?' Silas said in dismay, 'I wasn't about to climb down the drainpipe!'

'Well, you know, people fall out of windows and things...can't be too careful!'

'Why would I fall out the window?'

'Well, you might suddenly try and fly or something...you are a bit of an angel, tee hee!'

Silas face showed he was distinctly not amused.

'I see. Have these...got keys?'

'Not any more!' She smiled brightly at him, before tipping her head back and dropping the little metal key straight down her throat, 'Mmm...metal-y!'

'How about the doors?'

'Yeah, but I keep the keys in my underwear'

'Your underwear...drawer?'

'Nope, my underwear!'

'WHY!'

'Well, not many thieves would think to look there. Wouldn't want to be robbed, now, would we?'

'What about when you're at home?'

'Heh, they're still there,' she winked at Silas ,'Wanna check?'

_About as much as I want to staple my testicles to the wall_, he thought, and said:

'I'm fine, thanks. Good to know I am...safe'

'Nightnight then! See ya in the morning!'

'Sadly, yes,' Silas muttered, and put the duvet over his head.

Great. Now all he had to do was get slim enough to escape via the catflap.

-

**Apologies for previous chopped-out html link(s) - I've only just bothered to check FAQ for the title 'Why Do All My Html Links Get Cut Out And Leave The Rest Of The Sentence Hanging Moronically In Midair?'. **

**Cheery and (sorry) quite lengthy thankyous to Bastetgirl, BelleEve, Elaine (LOL to your God line), Aljinon, Shy FX (fret not about insanity. It comes in 2 forms - trendy and serial killer. As long as it's the kooky, 'trendy' insanity, you're fine - if it's the 'serial killer', uh, then I really hope you don't live near me...), the ephemeron (can I steal that 'luscious little bonbon head' phrase? It rocks), xlawa, sweetgirl99 (hope I haven't upset your story, you know, it's still a proper-healthy thing to do, writing romancefic. Probably healthier than parodying. I mean, how healthy to not be able to say 'I love you', but instead having to say 'I love you...like custard' and both burst out laughing:D And your reviews..lol, smurf!) and Kelly Tolkein, Countess Verona Dracula (How do I do it? I just love my characters. Well. One of them, anyway ;) .It's got to be affectionate. And may you have a pleasing vacation!), Schemergirl (thankyou, and - what does 'pwned' mean?).**


	7. James and the Denim Peach

**Greetings, all! This might technically be classified as a 'late update'. But then again, I never promised any particularly early ones ('tisn't good to make promises you can't keep). 'Truth, WAS busy relocating myself to Glasgow University (I have met a charming polish girl who speaks in Silas' very-same Draculaccents. It's great. Bloody hard to understand, but great :) ). Anyway. Thankyou for being loyal and bearing with the lazy updates, and without further ado...**

-

Silas had a strange dream...and in it, witnessed a horrific sight - no, not Amaria's baby photos, but _hell._

Hell itself, and all of Silas' darkest fears within it, like a violent Dantean vision. Silas was snatched away by a demon, and saw all things revealed. One room showed victims with their arms chained just out of reach of the TV remote-control…and being forced to watch endless 'Big Brother' episodes. This meant nothing to Silas; but presumably it did to the victims, who kept screaming about being allowed to die, and trying to claw their own eyes out.

The demon showed him three rooms, and told him to choose which one he'd like to spend eternity being horribly tortured in.

The first room was awful - a mighty, three-headed dog chased the hapless torturees, ripping them mercilessly to screaming shreds. Every so often, the torn-up bodies would stick themselves back together again, only to be chased and agonisingly mauled to bits once more. _No way_, thought Silas. The second room was worse: in it, lustful torturees were whirled about in the air by powerful winds, and smashed against the gigantic walls. And they were in constant torment from their aching arousal, moaning and eyeing each others wibbling flesh up ravenously, yet they could never catch each other or pause to satisfy themselves. Silas shut his eyes - not here, please, _no_! The third room was much better. The torturees were happily standing around in ordinary clothes, some holding cups of tea or digestive biscuits and chatting to one another in a relaxed fashion. True, they were thigh-deep in dung, but apart from the smell, they appeared quite content. I expect you'd get used to it after a while, thought Silas.

'I'd like to stay here, please,' he told the demon.

'As you wish,' the beast cackled, and cracked a whip at the others, 'Alright, you lot! Coffee break's over! Get back to standing on your heads for another 23 hours!'

_'Merde,_ 'thought Silas, and woke up screaming.

'AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!'

The door was flung open, and in bounced Amaria. She hurtled towards him in a hanky-sized scrap of black lace, flipping on the lights as she went and reaching greedily out to clasp him to her escaping bosom. Silas continued screaming with the kind of manly, looooowscream that suggested he could happily yowl until dawn. Amaria grabbed him by the shoulders.

'Shhhh, Silas! It's ok, its _me_!'

'I know, that's why I'm screaming!'

Amaria ignored him.

'Shhhhhh, baby,' she said, stroking his forehead,'You were just having a nightmare'.

He gave her a look which read 'WERE?'

Amaria ignored him again. Lacking any sort of empathy whatsoever, she was a bit stumped as to what do after engaging in the mutual, faintly erotic forehead stroking. Her mind had only one track, and the thoughts that travelled on it were faster, louder and more obvious than a Landspeed Record Attempt. Fortunately, Silas solved the problem by cocooning himself modestly in the duvet and growling that he was off to sleep in the garden.

'But I have to be here to comfort you!' she wailed feebly as he walked down the stairs. She stamped helplessly on the spot, beating her skinny fists pathetically,'You can't leave meeee!' she whinged.

_'Get stuffed,_ mademoiselle,' he called back to her, as went out to lie with his head in a lavender bush.

-

Morning.

Silas gazed at the sky a moment, then oozed silkily from his duvet and indoors. Back in his bedroom, he began to get down to pray. It wasn't the most exciting start to the day, but for him, it still beat the hell out of a cheese bagel. He had just begun, shifting his wounded leg painfully into position, when there came a _boing!_ noise from behind him.

'Writhe, I mean, _rise_, and shine!' Amaria trilled, bounding in rudely without knocking (not that she hadn't been spying through the keyhole for the last 10 minutes to see if he did anything naughty), 'Lazybones!' she sniggered, and blew a raspberry at him. Silas cringed.

'But I'm recovering from a serious gunshot injury that nearly proved fata...'

'Oh, you've always got an EXCUSE, haven't you! Silly sausage! Look, I was up early, and I just popped along to the shops, and I passed by the menswear shop and I just happened to see these and think of you...' she indicated 5 or 6 large bags.

'You..._just happened_... to see all those?'

'Yeah. I have big eyes'

Silas frowned.

'Mademoiselle, I cannot accept these. I have my robes and that is enough'.

But despite himself, he stuck his nose into one of the bags, feigning disinterest - and before he knew it, he was admiring himself in the mirror in one of Amaria's new outfits. Despite her many flaws, she actually had quite a pleasant sense of coordination, even if some of it was a bit...fruity.

Tight jeans were one thing, thought Silas, but these feel as though they've been invented by the Spanish Inquisition. Not that Silas did plan on having any children, but he was still quite literally attached to his reproductive organs, although that might change if he sat down too quickly.

'Are you sure this wasn't your laundry? These _must_ be woman's clothing!'

'Nope! Although...it could be arranged if you swing that way,' Amaria waggled her drawn-on eyebrows.She flashed him a sexy grin. On someone else, it might've been a turn-on. On her, it looked like a bad orthodontics advertisement.

'I mean, fetishe...'

Feeling queasy, Silas pointedly pressed his sharp nose against the window and changed the subject,' Oh wow, is that a blackbird? It's black, it' a bird...but I can never tell. Hoo yeah. Mmm. Could be a crow'

Amaria raised her eyebrows, but her memory would have shamed a goldfish, and after 10 seconds of silence, she had forgotten why they were raised in the first place. She lowered them and peered into the bags.

'Hmm, I guess I must've bought one size too small'

'ONE size?' Silas echoed in disbelief, staring at himself in the mirror. The thin white T-shirt would be fine, so long as the temperature didn't suddenly drop, in which case it was going to rip in at least two locations and the accompanying shivering would probably be constricting enough to give him a seizure.

'Well, the skinny fit is _in_ everywhere at the moment'

'I can see that,' Silas whimpered, misunderstanding,'this skinny fit is definitely right in EVERYWHERE at the moment'. He angled his neck to see his mirrored back, like a very flat swan, and...well, 'admired' was too strong a word, but 'regarded' what appeared to be the movie poster for James and the Denim Peach.

It was strange, but he'd always assumed Vanity would feel as revolting and wicked as the sin it was. And if the end result of said Vanity looked anything like the fleshy weirdy-fest that was Amaria, it also probably wasn't worth sinning anyway. However...he couldn't shake off the feeling that nothing that looked that good could possibly be bad. The word 'spankable' kept slithering in the corners of his mind like a snake. He shooed it out, but it was quickly replaced by another idea:

These take about half an hour to put on and take off, and at least fifteen minutes to even get undone, he reminded himself. Amaria hasn' got that much patience. As a monk, it is my holy duty to preserve my purity by wearing impossibly tight jeans! Although I possibly shouldn't phrase it _quite_ like that when explaining it to Opus Dei. They just won't _get it_.

If I actually go back there.

'So we're all agreed, then? You'll accompany me to go and return most of these, except for a few things a size larger?' Amaria trilled, beside herself with excitement, at the prospect of a shopping trip with her new would-be lovebunny. Silas shrugged helplessly, went to kneel down to pray, realised he couldn't bend in the jeans and decided to leave it.

'One morning won't matter,' he said to himself, feeling quite relieved, 'Beautiful morning. No sense in being so preoccupied with thanking God for it that I neglect to enjoy it, now, is there?'

-

Amaria herself was wearing a nice conservative red-fishnets-and-PVC combination. It was definitely sexy - if your idea of sexy involved The Rocky Horror Show. Silas eyed her up disinterestedly as they walked down the street a short while later.

'All the young women wear this now, do they?'

'Oh, no! If they did, I wouldn't be wearing it,' she mewled, 'I'm so very original. So very special and unique. I'm...' and off she went, onto her favourite subject: Herself.

They had gone quite a way into town before Silas began to get nervous, looking over his shoulder and shying away from the staring eyes of the passers-by.

Yep. You guessed it. It was time for the 'Silas Gets Stared At' scene:

-

'Why do they stare at me?' Silas wondered aloud as he made his way down the street.

His shoulders were hunched, his feet were leaden with misery and his nose was knackered. A single tear slipped out, and rolled poignantly down one chiselled cheek, caressing the skin as it went. It was a very lucky teardrop.

Silas wept a little more to himself, noting how everyone turned to stare at him, heads flicking round in amazement, and cries of wonder following him wherever he went.

Especially the women.

_They_ hate me most of all, Silas told himself.

_Look at them staring, and pointing, and…fainting. And chasing after me_.

He frowned. It was quite odd the way they did that. He'd always thought they'd find him so hideous they'd run AWAY from him, but for some mysterious reason, women always ran TOWARDS him?

At last, he rounded on Amaria, trotting obliviously beside him and adjusting her eyeliner.

He cried out in despair:

'Why do these women chase me! Why do these people stare at me! Why do they cry out! Am I that much of a FREAK? Is it my hair? My skin? My eyes?'

Amaria closed her power compact distastefully.

'No, Silas. It's probably the fact you're naked'

Silas looked down.

And he was.

'Hey, why didn't you TELL me?'

'Well, I thought you'd have noticed!'

'Look, you KNOW I have a nakedness problem! How can I be expected to get through the day without tearing all my clothes off and thrusting my Michaelangelo-esque, hung-like-a-dinosaur body in the direction of some unsuspecting female? It's not my fault! I can't break it, ok? It's like an unwritten law is causing me to get naked every five minutes!'

'Really?' twittered Amaria, who didn't really give a damn about him as long as she got laid at some point. Given a little more privacy, she'd have pounced (malformed hyaena-cub that she was...!), but even _she_ wasn't about to try it on in the middle of the steet. 'Have you tried chewing gum? Or nicotine patches? Anyway, my eyeliner looks ok, doesn't it?'

'What?' Silas frowned, yelping as three young ladies, foaming at the mouth, caught up with him and started pinching his pasty backside furiously.

He attempted to shake them off, but alas, every attempt to move only resulted in a flexing of his taut, chalky muscles, and subsequent swooning. Amaria, as usual, only knew how to react if you gave her a cue, and couldn't deal with any deviations from the pre-arranged plot. Her list of cues ran something like this:

**Silas is crying:** feed him, stroke his forehead, and smile coyly every time he stares at you (he likes you and wants your babies! Giggle!)

**Silas is crying harder**: Ask him why he's crying (yawn! As if you care!)

**Silas develops a faintly humorous _man-problem_ and gets embarrassed:** Pretend not to notice. DO NOT: a) pounce on him, b) point and laugh c) make comments like 'Ha-ha! _Boner_!' or d) do all three.

**Silas stares at you:** Pretend not to stare back. This allows for a good seventy-three paragraphs of Silas mentally giving himself twelve million reasons why no-one could possibly fancy him.

**Silas literally beats himself up**: Cry pitifully until he stops, then stroke his forehead.

**Silas nearly dies:** This one's easy. Wrap him in bandages and change the dressing every thirty seconds. Even if he's got leprosy.

**Silas actually dies:** Do not pass 'Go', do not collect 200 Pounds.

**Silas commits suicide through your talking garbage and not leaving him alone:** Whoopsie!

**Silas prays: **Blink a lot, lay your hand on his shoulder, and spout any bit you can remember from 'The Passion of the Christ'.

**Silas gets angry: **Duck. And stroke his forehead later.

So far, these stock responses were proving highly effective.

Amaria sighed. She did this because she had run out of things to do. She reached the first shop and went in to set about the business of returning the unwanted items whilst Silas found some pointy sticks, pepper spray and hopefully undercrackers as well, to prevent any more fangirl chasage.

Suddenly, Amaria stopped.

She stared.

Her jaw dropped in amazement at the sheer beauty.

Two silvery, sexy beings made their way towards the glass shop-door in front of her.

They were dressed all in a very cyberish ivory-silver, with a bizarre, shaved-high hairline, and Silas-coloured albino dreadlocks fanning elegantly down their broad shoulders.

There were matching sunglasses. There were strangely appealing ivory winklepickers. There were white silk ties. There was a loud and painful 'crunch!' noise as one of them walked into the door.

He crumpled humorously into an undignified cyber-heap. The first twin turned to him furiously.

'HOW many times? We walk in sync UNTIL we reach a door, then _ONE_ goes through first! You just ruined our cool!'

'Sorry,' Two mumbled, 'it's just...why do you always get to go through first...?'

'I'm ONE, that's why - Twin One, Twin Two, it's in order'

'...and anyway, I didn't see the door. I thought we had sonar? Does the Matrix give us sonar?'

'No, Twin Two, we do NOT have sonar'

'Well... can we upgrade to it, then?'

'Oh, you're always wanting upgrades!' the second one bitched, waving his cyber-arms about, ' it's upgrade this, ungrade that, nyer-nyer-nyer '_Can we have blue hair, One?' _'_Can we have built-in magnets that attract hot cyberchicks, One?' 'Can we have can-openers for hands, One, I can't get the lids off our lunchtime ravioli...? _'

'Hey-hey, the can openers wereYOUR idea, and...!'

Amaria cleared her throat.

'Um, guys? I think you're in the wrong movie'

'This isn't the Matrix?'

'It might be...but we've got our own little story going on here. Athough,' she said, eyeing up their gorgeous pixels, 'Would you mind if I just asked you guys a few questions? How..._moral_...are you?'

'Moral?' squinted One, 'Isn't that the orange stuff that grows on reefs?'

'Oh, WOW,' Amaria fanned herself, swallowing, 'So...you _don't _have a religion that means you're essentially two really beautiful albino-types whose Holy Teachings utterly forbid you to pair up with anyone and make really beautiful albino-type babies with them, _even though_ it's hideously unfair to all those who very much want to bear your really beautiful albino-type babies?'

'Religion?' smiled One, straightening his tie.

'What's a Religion?', smiled Two, straightening his.

Amaria grinned like a shark.

-

When Silas returned, having managed to shake off his pursuers, there was a faraway look in Amaria's eyes. She hurriedly stuffed a piece of paper with what looked like phone numbers on into her bra, and they walked on...

-

**Thanks to my reviewers: Malaysian Gal, Kelly Tolkein, BelleEve, Countess Verona Dracula (Brownies? Fun fact; didn't know that. But, my dear, I thought you also ATE brownies in America? Doesn't it traumatise the children?), Elaine, Shy FX ( :-) strangling the postman sounds very reasonable to me, well done! And as to worship, I'll won't deny it'd be useful on those days where y'wake up and find the size of your self-confidence has reduced from 'airship' to 'lychee' overnight... ), adeline7g, sweetgirl99 (Goth bless you, my dear, the father, son and holy spiggot or any equivalent. There's nothing so delicious as a proper long review to sink my little sharp teeth into. ;) I am so glad you're as happy as a clam...why a clam would be happy, I don't know, but I'm still glad.)**

**And anyone notice the ooooooospooky thing just after I posted the last chapter? 166 fics in the section, 6 chapters and 66 reviews. ''sings'' 6-6-6, the number of the beast!**


	8. Chicken Soup for the Albino Soul

If looks could kill, Silas may have had to take a small aspirin.

'?' he asked Amaria wearily.

But she merely continued frowning at him. Something was afoot - which was (confusingly enough) going to be a handful. They carried on their unmerry way, Silas dressed in a surprisingly flattering binliner.

It was some time before Silas realised they had passed the Opus Dei building, and he hadn't thought about going into it. In fact, the more he considered it, the more he reckoned that he ought to stay out of it a bit longer just to make _absolutely_ sure the world was 100 as horrible as they said. The Doctors who'd patched his leg up, the bunny biscuits, the jeans, the fact he'd had his cilice off for two whole days and hadn't (as he had assumed he would) turned into a dribbling, sex-crazed manslut - all pointed pointily to the idea that there WERE decent bits in life too.

'Got you a present,' said Amaria stiffly. She handed him a small book.

'I didn't know you could read,' Silas raised a single tic-tac coloured eyebrow.

It was entitled:

'_'Chicken Soup for the Albino's Soul'_

'Words of comfort. Self-esteem. Thankyou,' he said with genuine smile, accepting it.

'Yeah,' she giggled, and added darkly, 'You're gonna need it...!'

-

Thinking about it, her choice of DVD that evening probably shouldn't have been 'The Life of Brian'.

Silas had watched in furious silence, grinding his teeth, and then vacated himself to the back garden with the film, where he anointed it with 4-star and set fire to it. Amaria made a mental note not to show him 'Sister Act'. Although his faith was in crisis at the moment, old habits die hard, and 'He's not the messiah, he's a very silly boy' had chafed his snowy ears. He might be having a hard time finding Jesus at the moment - but he hadn't lost him THAT much.

Night fell, knocking a small owl unconscious as it plummeted.

Silas sat, and felt defeated. He hadn't escaped her clutches, he didn't want to go back to Opus Dei, he didn't know what to do, and his lasagne was a bit runny. He pushed the plate away, feeling depressed.

Amaria, inconsiderate as ever, chose that precise moment to put some music on. Silas grimaced and stuck his fingers in his ears. A) he found it horrible and b) he found it horrible and c) he found it horrible and:

'Rock music is the devil's music, Amaria! Its rhythms encourage lascivious thoughts and entice the body to salacious movements. It's…'

'Sorry, whaddaya say?' goggled Amaria, turning the moaning chords and insistent, driving, _thrusting_ rhythm of Slipknot down…

'Never _mind_,' Silas sighed miserably.

'No, it's alright,' said Amaria with a strange look in her eyes. She put the music off, 'We can do things your way,' she said quietly.

She sat down on his lap without ceremony, and Silas was feeling so low he hadn't even the heart to stab her with his fork. For one thing, the sight of her bosom deflating in front of him would only have made him queasy. He sighed hopelessly and leant against her razor-like collarbone. He considered The Idea.

And as Amaria wriggled her toast rack of a body aginst him, he began to think that maybe sinning WASN'T such a bad idea. He couldn't possibly feel any more low, guilty or generally pissed-off than he did already, and if he did decide to return to God, well, he could probably still get away with once in 10 years - if he started using a really BIG discipline. Gingerly, he unbuttoned her top as she cooed down his ear, all the while writhing like a depraved eel, to reveal a body about as welcoming and erotic as a bed of nails.

Silas felt mildly queasy, but leant in and bravely planted manifold kisses upon the two hunks of botox glued to her face. If anything, he felt even sicker afterwards. Yet Silas was no coward, and, like an overgrown lamb to a very bizarre slaughter, resigned himself to the fact he was going to sin, and it was probably going to be so abysmal it wouldn't even be worth it. Fearlessly, he made up his mind.Whining like a castrated puppy, Amaria dribbled enthusiasticaly all down his neck. Silas was past caring. With a final few kisses across the canyon of her concave abdomen, he carried her through to the living room and laid with her on the expanse of trendy sofa.

Surprisingly, the situation wasn't as uncomfy as he thought.

In fact, it was getting quite interesting. Amaria was certainly not about to win any points for style, but being a Mary-Sue, she naturally compensated for it in enthusiasm. Silas exited his jeans and just let his long, clever hands wander all over Amaria's skimpy body, initially trying to shake off the feeling he was being attacked by two cantaloupes (and then shrugging and happily letting himself be attacked anyway - did not the Bible say 'multiply and be fruity'?)

Silas was unsure. Part of him was pointing out that if he was going to sin, he should've picked someone who didn't taste of rancid blackcurrants to sin WITH, and part of him was very rapidly getting keener on the idea of accepting her most enthusiastically. No-one would have been crass enough to point out exactly WHICH part in particular this was, but he was certainly grateful Monks didn't wear tiny lycra shorts.

Amaria moaned headily, and Silas, clutching at her with mounting enjoyment, simply did likewise, crying out as her scraggy hand reached down and began to stroke his...

'Wait'

'Eh?' Silas opened one eye.

Amaria thought aloud, stroking his forehead annoyingly.

'I can't find it in my heart to defile this...this ANGEL. You're like... pure as, like...a really pure thing, now! All this coaxing, all these mont...wee...day..._hours_ of enticing, and you lie in my arms like a newborn kitten. You've given in.You'll commit sin, for the first time in like...forever!'

She frowned.

'Silas..I…I can't. I know it's forbidden…I can't do it!' Amaria cried, unclutching him.

'What?' Silas looked up at her from the melon-like comfort of her warm bosom, horror dawning.

'I said I can't! I know you don't want to'

Silas shook his head violently,'No, no, you've got it all wrong - I've decided…'

'Oh, you are too sweet to me,' said Amaria tragically, casting one arm across her forhead, the force of the movement causing delightful earthquakes about the region of Silas' cheek.

'Amaria, I am being perfectly honest here – maybe it is not such a bad a sin, after all. I have considered it. I will forsake my vows just this…where are you going!'

'I am going to put my clothes back on. Silas, you have inspired me, I think I shall become…a nun!'

'NO,' Silas wailed pitifully, 'For the love of God, lie back down…! I'm not averse to a small quantity of sin - nobody's perfect, are they?'

'Silas,' she stroked his cheek, as lickably enticing as a freshly-buttercreamed fairy cake, 'your modesty does you credit. But I know you have a pure mind. You shall commit no sin'

'Yes, but, I really don't like that idea…please? PLEASE?'

'Never, Silas'

'PLEASE? Just a little bit of sin?'

'I am innocent'

'I quick bit of sin? A ten-minute sin?'

'Nothing doing'

'A five-minute one, then – actually, it's been ten years, I could sin in 30 seconds'

'No'

'Oh, go on….pretty please?'

'No'

'Pretty please and sugar on the top and a cherry and…'

'Silas! Enough! I know you are just testing me. I know this sudden change of heart, this eagerness, is nothing but a trick, designed to make me falter in my resolution! But I have set my heart on it – I will become a nun, and serve the God who inspires you to such depths!' she raised her arms, apparently basking in her own holy glow.

Silas gaped at her.

It was insane, crazy, ludicrous, unbeleivable...but then again, she was a Mary-Sue. Her life CONSISTED of the ludicriously bloody stupid. When you looked at it like that, it started to make sense. Nobody would have seen it coming: as a general rule, her insane and frankly tacky lust was supposed to outweigh all sense of decency/modesty/plausibility.

But this was the realm of the Mary-Sue - there WERE no rules!

Silas was not best pleased.

He buried his head in the cushion, stifling a cry of utter dismay.

And he prayed:

_Dear God – you really HATE me, don't you?_

_-_

The following morning, Silas left, and headed for the green and peaceful haven of the local park, to think what to do.

He strode purposefully down all the usual avenues of inspiration: prayer, insight, vanilla icecream (the latter a more recent addition whch didn't necessarily help him think, but cheered him up no end). Alas, though, when he reached the final source of guidance...

'Shit! I left my pocket bible at Amaria's place!'

-

The door was too trendy to creak, but swung open with a hip and funky melody of squeaks. Silas gingerly stuck his head round the door and strawberrily said 'Hello?'.

No reply.

He padded through to the hall, intending to head up to the bedroom, take his property, and go, when the sound of voices drifted out from under the living room door...

'And he's 42 years old?' purred the cybertones of a very sexy British accent.

'So...?' he heard Amaria's voice reply

'So, like, you shouldn'tve said 'Marry Me!', you should've said 'Push Off, Grandad!' came the slightly more excitable voie of Twin Two.

'Really?' Amaria gaped, her lower jaw slack. Having no personality beyond what would conveniently please her love interest, she was as easily swayed a baby willowtree, and every bit as damp and wimpy.

'Oh, _yeah_,' Twin Two said smoothly, manoeuvering a snowy arm about her tiny waist,'forget him, lady, he's nothing...but us, for example...'

'We dont age...,' Twin One purred, sliding a little closer

'...we just get _upgraded_,' Twin Two finished.

They nuzzled up a little closer to Amaria, whipping off their sunglasses in sexy unison.

Twin One teased her a little as his brother attempted to inch the hem of her miniskirt up, but, her miniskirt being so very mini, very quickly ran out of inches.

'What did you see in that...Slyarse...'

_'...Silas...'_

'...person anyway? An inferior specimen of your human race,' Twin One sniffed, dissolving the particles of Amaria's bra straps with one clever swipe,'totally illogical and ruled by pointless dogma. Mentally non-functioning'

'Well,' Amaria began,'I think I liked him out of some grotesquely mislaid notion that if I go to all the trouble of sorting out his tortured mind and miserable self-esteem, then I'll somehow deserve to have his as my husband/lover/sex slave for eternity. I am, of course, totally wrong, because 've just realised that once I've made him normal, he'll act like every other normal guy on the planet, and run off with a exotic toothpick who's had two watermelons surgically implanted to her chest'

Two gave her a confused look.

'But...aren't _you_ that toothpick?'

Amaria looked down.

'Hey, whaddayaknow?' she beamed, ' I am! God, it's great being a Mary-Sue!'

One and Two gave each other A Look, seemingly rather confused at Amaria's actually quite perceptive outburst. Their prescence may well have been promoting logical thought in her addled cathouse of a brain.

One attempted to get his advances back on track, and teased once again.

'You really don't deserve us, though..,' he smiled a naughty smile. Two nibbled her purple-varnished fingertips.

'We're too...

'...good for...'

'...shoe, I mean 'you''

'Huh?' said Amaria

Twin One slapped Twin Two.

'When I say 'Finish my sentences in that creepy mind-reading way', I mean finish them CORRECTLY!'

'I'm sorry, I'm sorry!'

'Too good for shoe? What does that even MEAN!'

'Well, it's a tad hard to read your mind that fast'

'Read it? Look, you prize berk,we're only supposed to HAVE one mind!'

'Ok! Ok! I said I was sorry, I'll do better next time, promise! Try it again'

Twin One glowered at his clone for a moment, then turned back to Amaria and attempted the trick again.

'So where _is_ that...'

'...man you were...'

'...busy spending some...'

'..uh...phone credit? with...'

'TwinTwoIwillkillyouifyoudon'tgetthisright...HIS NAME IS SILAS and he is...'

'...uh...hot? White? Naked? Ooh, I know, give me a clue! 3 syllables? A book, a film or a song?'

'...TOO OLD FOR..'

'...joining the Cub Scouts..?' Twin Two trailed off miserably, trying to guess what his clone was attempting to say.

Twin One snarled, and stood up, menacing his twin.

'No! Flesh of my flesh,' cringed Two, shielding his face,'We're the same programme! If you hurt me you'll, like, only be hurting yourself!' he howled. Luckily, at that minute, Amaria grabbed TwinOne by the tie and yanked him right back down again beside her.

'Hey-hey,' she purred, kissing the pasty cyberbino's grey cheeks soothingly,' Calm _down, _people...and I get what you guys are trying to say,' she cooed amorously,' that Silas guy was too old and weird and ewwww! I can't beleive I ever fell for him! He was _icky...!'_

'Mmm...true...' Twin One murmured seductively, nuzzling into her graceless white neck.

'Yeah...' mumbled Twin Two, planting lazy kisses on her other cheek,'_and_ I bet he smelt like chicken soup...'

Amaria and Twin One paused and stared at him.

'What? It's an insult!' Twin Two cried indignantly,and trailed slowly off as his eyes met those of the albino man, framed in the doorway like a vengeful messenger of God.

Amaria's jaw dropped.

The air twanged with tension.

But Silas, however, just leaned easily on the doorframe and said:

'You know, if you'd wanted me to sod off and go, you could've just _said_'

'No! You stabbed me in the back!' Amaria squealed hysterically, all of a sudden.

'What happened to you being a nun?'

'Oh, so you want to pick fights now!'

'No, I...'

'Well, you forgot my birthday!'

'You never told me when it wa...'

'Hey, Mister Selfish, what about MY NEEDS!'

'Well, if you'd told me what they w...'

'I totally don't believe I'm hearing this!'

'That might be cause you aren't actually listeni...'

'I DON'T HAVE TO SIT HERE AND BE INSULTED!'

'I...'

'What do you take me for, a slave!'

'Eh?'

Alas, for a Mary-sue, nothing is ever simple or honest!

Cliches pranced merrily off Amaria's tongue with absolutely no bearing on reality. Incapable of remembering even what she had for breakfast, she had no idea what had even gone on between her and Silas. The close proximity of the immense hotness of the Twins had fucked up her very mechanism, and Silas gave her one last condescending look, before walking slowly and dignifiedly out of the door. The Twins attempted to cope with the squawking Amaria, now shouting gibberish left right and centre.

'Take the pepperpot with you, Mister Banana,' she shreiked, '...and whip out that Count Duckula! Halo on the angels, weedwhacker, and don't forget to slice the walrus sandwich! Lesbian ham with the crusts cut off!'

'Twin One, I think we have a fruitloop on our hands'

'I know, Twin Two, I know!'

-

Peachy thankyous to my reviewers: Griffon's Flight (Heh-heh... 'We _are _getting aggravated...''We _are'_), Lady Sarassri (who neglected to leave me a profile so I could PM her with the Mary-Sue weblink:D ! I'd post it here but the site won't allow it), Schemergirl, adeline7g, Kelly Tolkein, BelleEve, Malaysian Gal, Countess Verona Dracula, Littlemissmercy (you do Silas writings? How charmful! And leaving a well-rounded review is yes-thankyou-appreciated, certainly, though I've no objection any other sort...), ShyFX, and Flyingfish15 (And you HAVE to see the Matrix Reloaded, or possibly just the 14 minutes with the Twins in. The movie is a heap of unnecessary toss, but they OWN it for those 14 minutes!)

Chapter dedicated loosely to the delightful albino fellow ('pologies, delightful _person with albinism_) I bumped into on the London Underground. And just for everyone's information: nobody stares. He wasn't getting any strange looks whatsoever. Maybe just because London is FULL of curious-looking people, but still, no-one even blinked. Hope he's fine, the handsome chap - he seemed friendly :) .

And yes, this story will not be dragging on for much longer - I have only a very small number of chapters/bits planned after this.


	9. Sex, Drugs and Sausage Rolls

The Sister of the the Order of Saint Amarias's approached Silas, and held a chubby little hand out in greeting.

'Brother Silas?' she asked in a voice so genuinely welcoming Silas wondered if he'd stumbled into Butlins by mistake.

'Sister Florence,' he replied in greeting, matching her warm tone.

_I like it here already_, he thought happily.

Ok. So he COULD have thrown his Bible in the metaphorical dustbin, given it all up, and turned to a life of sex, drugs and sausage rolls (at least, that's how Silas thought the phrase went, though he'd never been able to figure out what was so sinful about flaky pasty) . But no matter which way he thought about it, there would be God-shaped holes in his life - and so, after much consideration, he'd decided to join an extremely liberal denomination instead of Opus Dei. The one that seemed to suit him best, after some research, was (curiously enough) called 'Saint Amaria's. The name was taken from an obscure Welsh martyr who'd been executed by the Romans in a bathful of mushroom soup.

Admittedly, after the trauma he'd experienced, some would point out to Silas that he might as well just have joined any old church, and beggars shouldn't be choosers - but Silas would have done some pointing right back at them, and it would probably have involved a sharp metal implement. He'd found just the right place that would give him as much freedom or help as he wanted, and he told himself he was going to make a start so fresh and squeaky clean that it would shame a rubber ducky.

He joined the lovely Sister Florence for a chat...

-

'I used to know someone called Amaria,' Silas mused, over generous cups of hot chocolate in the Order's enormous gardens (this denomination apparently didn't find cocoa sinful).

'Really?' said Sister Florence,'What was she like?'

'Uhm,' said Silas, attempting to think of something charitable and failing utterly, 'Well, she IS probably the reason I've ended up here, so she did do SOME good. She...er...she gives the impression she really cares about you,' he managed, which was sort of true.

'And this was an accurate impression?' Sister Florence queried gently, tucking both her short arms into her warm sleeves.

'Well,no...' Silas began, and then blurted out,'She didn't _actually _care, she was just trying to get into my robes. Which is totally fine, I mean, it's perfectly ok...well, actually, no, it's completely godawful and hideous and sinful and physically revolts every fibre of my being and we'd all have roasted in hell like tortured Dantean pigs for eternity. But _apart _from that, it's perfectly ok'.

Sister Florence gave him an odd look.

'Was she a Mary-Sue, by any chance?'

'Yes! How did you guess?'

Sister Florence blew gently on her hot chocolate to cool it down, and said with a slightly sheepish smile:

'I, um...used to be one'

'You? You used to be a Mary-Sue! But I thought they just...I don't know...' Silas tailed off in confusion.

'Well, we're as real as the next person, so it's perfectly possible for us to choose not to be Mary-Sues. I certainly don't LOOK like a Mary-Sue anymore,' Sister Florence said, with the tiniest hint of regret twinging at the corners of her voice. But she covered it up with a smile quickly, realising it was a daft thing to say.

Silas could neither agree nor disagree. He was so incurably short-sighted that he couldn't have told the difference between a supermodel and a sausage roll at more than 10 centimetres anyway. From what he could discern, there might have been a good deal of freckles and large dark eyes, but then again, there might not have been. Silas didn't really care. All he knew was that he and Sister Florence were getting along beautifully. And this place was _calm._

'You know, most men wouldn't turn down a Mary-Sue,' Sister Florence was saying mischeviously, 'they're very lovely young ladies. As an ex-Mary-sue, I ought to know!'

Silas grinned at her.

'Sister, look at me. Children throw stones at me. Grown adults call me names. I'm not smart, I don't know anything about anything, and life hasn't left me with much sense of humour. Do I look like the right pairing for someone perfect?'

And Sister Florence fell about laughing, choking something about Amaria just having to find herself a Gary-Stu, and spluttering into her hot chocolate. Silas patted her helpfully on the back before she poured the beverage into her lungs. He smiled once more. She was as cuddly as a newborn kitten and every bit as strokably soft, _and that_, thought Silas as he gazed happily at the blurry pink blob balanced between her shoulders, _is just about all the sensory input I would ever want...!_

THE END

-

A/N: I am aware that only the stricter denominations of Christianity (not the liberal ones) see any need for monks and nuns...but if you wanted facts and not a pack of lies, you'd be reading basically anything that didn't have 'Da Vinci' and 'Code' in the title. So just give me a little bendy leeway.

Thanks to reviewers: Schemergirl (one says 'hello' strawberrily in much the same way that one says 'hello' gingerly, except a little fruitily instead of spicily. Yeah, I know. Basically b/s. As usual :P ), Kelly Tolkien, flyingfish15, BelleEve, retro00, Bastetgirl, phoenix rising06 and Griffon's Flight. Credits to the name of 'reviewer', all of them!

I don't know if I'll write anything more soon, but if I do, it's likely to be in the Inkheart, Master and Commander, A Knight's Tale or possibly Saw categories. Keep your eyes lightly braised if you're of a mind to be interested :) .


	10. PREVIEW Silas and MarySue II

-PREVIEW-

Coming Soon to a PC near you..._Silas and Mary Sue II: Dead Man's Vest_!

Gasp! As the Legolas of modern Paris goes about his sexy business once again! Swoon! As Paul Bettany's eyebrows continue to fail to exist! Go 'Awww!' As you witness the patter of tiny albeanie-baby feet! And Weep! As you realise I'm making all this up because I needed somewhere to put this extra scene, and there isn't going to be a sequel anyway!

_One man. One woman. One brain between them. Dare you watch the thrill-ride that is Silas and Mary Sue II?_

_-_

_Preview scene:_

-

The Opus Dei numenary quivered with righteous anger. He stepped forward, aflame with holy zeal, and pointed a furious finger at Silas and his tiny son. The man's eyes narrowed as he cried to the albino:

'That child is a sin! You're _living in sin_!'

Silas clasped the albeanie-baby to his shirted front protectively. With typical toddler timing, the brat chose that precise moment to wail that he wanted a biscuit and to watch Bob the Builder and _don't WANNA hug now toopid Papa wanna watch BOBDA BUILDER!_ It thrashed and squawked, angry little fists flailing. Silas, unfazed, tucked the squirming creature tidily under one arm, and smiled brightly at the gun-toting menace.

Leaning about Body Language had been a lot of fun, and now he'd started actually talking to people, he was picking it up quite well.

'Kids!' he rolled his eyes, grinning.

The Opus Dei man wasn't amused.

'That child is an abomination in the eyes of God!' he yowled, flecks of spit frothing about like cheap bubblebath.

'Why?'

'Never mind the stupid questions! I'm busy putting you in Mild Peril! I don't need a reason!'

'I see,' said Silas calmly, 'Well, I'm sorry to hear it..._Toby, please behave yourself! Wait until the nice man has finished trying to kill you, then you can have a biscuit'_

'That child is evil, and what are you going to do about it?'

'What am I supposed to do? Put him back where he came from?'

'Yes! No, wait, I mean...look, don't fuck with me!'

'Well, he wouldn't have fitted anyway...'

'Shut it, you, I'm at the end of my tether! I'm warning you! So help me, as God is my witness I shall spill your unholy blood'

The child had calmed down and was now contentedly picking its nose.

Silas bent down to speak to his young son, yanking the boy's questing fingers out from his nostrils.

'Toby, Papa is going to deal with the nice man, and it would help Papa a lot if you could go straight back home to Mamma and stay there'

'Why, Papa?'

'So the nice man doesn't decorate the wall with your brains, Toby'

'Cool,' said Toby calmly, completely unfazed. He stood up to go.

'Go on. You'll be safe there, Toby. And Papa was very lucky'

'Why, P'pa, why?' the toddler looked up at Silas, bright-eyed, as the albino smiled grimly and drew a trusty pocketknife.

He grinned.

'Because the man with the gun didn't ask about Toby's fourteen brothers and sisters- heh!'

-----------

WARNING: May not be an actual, existing sequel.


End file.
